Fic: Ghosts Who Leave the Mists, Doctor/Rose, 1/1
Title: Ghosts Who Leave the Mists
Author: principia_coh
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler, and the guest characters from multiple episodes.
Spoilers: Through the end of AoG, with a hint towards Doomsday and events and people at the end of Series 3 and Series 4.
Rating: PG-13
Betas: The hypervigilant leighleighla!
Author’s Notes: My (largely) canon-compliant Army of Ghosts pinch-hit fic for the Time in Flux ficathon.
--------------------
Planet Earth. This is where I was born. And this is where I died.
For the first 19 years of my life, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not ever.
*********
Rose Tyler sighed heavily, placed another chip in her mouth, and chewed half-heartedly as she tried not to think about the job she'd just lost out on. She relaxed against the window, letting the cool glass support her head.
Shareen had been so positive that they'd been hiring around her way. Maybe they hadn't, or maybe they had taken one look at her, heard her speak, and decided they already employed enough chavs for what was supposed to be an establishment looking to upscale.
Here she was, 19 years old, dropped out of school with no A levels, still living with her mum, and unable to even get a position in the caff at Marks and Sparks. What the hell had she been thinking, dropping out of school for a toad like Jimmy Stone?
She hadn't been, obviously. Rose folded the top of her bundle of chips closed. Maybe I should try again at the job centre tomorrow. With another sigh, Rose drifted off into a light doze. Just a few minutes, she thought, Maybe it'll give me the energy to face Mum when I have to tell her I didn't get the job. Again.
A short while later, as the double-decker rounded a corner, the driver braked sharply, bringing the bus to a halt. Rose was jerked awake as her packet fell to the floor and she nearly collided with the seat in front of her. Her fellow passengers grumbled while the driver shouted hoarsely at whatever errant vehicle or person had just bloody near caused a crash. Rose's heart pounded as she watched the minicab that had cut in front of the bus dart away. That had taken care of her early-evening sluggishness. She sat bolt upright, her lost chips momentarily forgotten, and rubbed her eyes, looking out the window to see where they were. Oh, right, Henrik's.
Hang on, was that a 'Hiring Now' sign in the window?
*********
And then I met a man called the Doctor.
*********
This isn't funny, this isn't at all funny, not even close, why are they bothering with me here in the basement, they should've gone upstairs while we were open, this is stupid, why won't they say something, I'm gonna kill Derek, that wanker, if these idiots don't kill me first, they've got me stumbling over all this junk and now I'm standing right in front of the steam pipe. Oh my God, are they going to kill me? They can't possibly...
Rose was pinned against the wall as the nearest mannequin, person, whatever, raised his arm in a clear chopping motion. She couldn't bring herself to watch.
Suddenly, a cool, strong, person's hand gripped hers firmly. Rose looked up to see the owner of the hand in question. “Run,” he said, urgently, wrenching her away from whatever dismal fate had been in store, throwing the nearby doors open and pelting down the maintenance corridor at full tilt with her at his side, hand still tightly clenched in his.
Run. Who was she to argue?
*********
A man who could change his face. And he took me away from home in his magical machine.
*********
Rose leaned in the entryway to the console room, a serene smile on her face. Bleary-eyed, she tried to hold back a yawn as she watched the Doctor continuing to fiddle with some bit of wiring behind one of the roundels. It seemed like he'd been at this rather minute repair for hours, and it had been late enough when they'd got back to the TARDIS as it was, but he swore once it was fixed, off to any gig, any where, any when they could go, with pinpoint accuracy.
Suddenly, he leapt onto the central platform, eagerly twisting a dial here and flipping a switch there, playing his favourite instrument. He bounced around the TARDIS' console, his trimly tailored suit moving smoothly over the angles of his body.
And occasional curves, she noted, her smile widening as she drank in the fit form dancing in front of her, most especially his tight bum, which was was now directly in her view. He stopped and erupted with a joyous shout, throwing his hands up in triumph.
“Bravo!” Rose cheered, clapping loudly, lest the Doctor forget he had an audience.
He must have done, because Rose swore he jumped a good foot-and-a-half in the air. He then turned to her, panting with alarm... or was it excitement?
“Gave me the fright of my lives! Well, this life, anyway. I'd thought you'd packed it in and gone to bed ages ago, Rose Tyler,” he explained, sounding equally abashed and pleasantly surprised to find her still here.
“Can't miss the maestro at work,” Rose countered, grinning.
“Hmmm,” he hummed happily, as he sidled up to her. “Did I put on a good show for you?”
Eyes sparkling with mischief, he smiled at her sweetly, looked her directly in the eye, and broke out in a face-splitting yawn.
Rose found herself yawning back with equal fervour, and swatted at his arm. “Oi, that's not fair,” she chastised him around another yawn.
“I think someone is tired,” the Doctor chirped.
“Oh, come on, after all that?” Rose complained, blinking heavily. She rubbed her eyes in an effort to clear a bit of the sleep from them.
“I think you are too pooped to pop,” he continued.
“I'm never too tired for dancing,” she quipped. Rose blushed deeply, mortified, as soon as the words had left her mouth.
To her surprise, instead of retreating with embarrassed mumbles about needing to rotate something, or engaging in one of his other usual tactics for avoiding uncomfortable subjects, the Doctor slowly licked his lips, and let his gaze wander up and down her body. Rose swallowed hard, and straightened slightly, fidgeting under the unaccustomed scrutiny. She thought she'd caught him looking before once or twice, sure, but never like this.
“I think maybe you're right,” she muttered. “I am a bit knackered. We should probably go, you know, to bed. I mean I should, I know you don't sleep, not really.” Nice ramble, Tyler. God, you're as bad as him!
The Doctor looked at her appraisingly, and his expression shifted ever so slightly. “Here and there, now and then. Would you at least like me to tuck you in?”
Rose's pulse fluttered, and she found herself suddenly not very tired at all. “Yeah,” she replied breathily, “I think I'd like that a lot.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jackie Tyler was going to bloody kill her. Not a little dead. Not “you're grounded for the next fortnight and don't think you're going to that party at Keisha's, young missy.” Stone cold dead.
Rose Tyler looked at herself in the mirror, for what felt like the first time in ages. These days the Doctor's beaming smile of approval seemed to be all the reflection she needed.
Her hair... was not blonde. Nor was it shoulder-length. Or ever-so-slightly-past shoulder length. There were still some blonde bits at the end, the last several inches, to be sure, but otherwise, her hair was brown, for the first time in years. Its deep natural brunette had reappeared at the roots, and remained a darker brown past the end of her chin, then faded slowly into her old colour. And the Doctor had never said a word, just kept smiling that wonderful smile at her. He always admired her locks whether he was helping her put her hair into some ridiculous hairstyle for attending an important 'do on some faraway planet, or trying to scrub the mud, slime, and general ick out of her hair after one of their stickier getaways.
My God, how long had it been?
There was nothing for it. They were going to have to go back to Earth. Maybe London, or maybe not. Not if she wanted to be sure her mum wouldn't see her like this. New York, or Chicago, maybe? A haircut and a dye? Although she did love the way he played with her hair as she had it fanned out across a pillow, or draped over his shoulder.
Maybe just a fresh dye job, that should do it. Somewhere funky that would let her keep the roots in so it didn't look too posh-and where they couldn't get into too much trouble. If she put her hair up in a ponytail or braids, her mum would never have to know the difference, right?
###
In retrospect, Rose considered, as she sprinted hand-in-hand down the pavement with the Doctor, she really should've known better. There was always trouble. The Doctor seemed positively giddy at this turn of events, even as she glanced over her shoulder to see if they'd evaded their pursuers, and she couldn't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm.
The haircut would have to wait.
*********
He showed me the whole of time and space. I thought it would never end.
*********
Almost straight away after their close encounter with the black hole that was designed to imprison the Devil himself, and said prisoner, he'd taken her to 6-4!7 Grappa B.
This entire planet used to be underwater, he'd explained, a vast ocean planet up until fairly recently in geological terms. After its galaxy had had too close an encounter with a neighbouring one and gravitic havoc had been wreaked on the affected star systems, large portions of its crust had collapsed, taking not all but much of the water miles down into the planet's interior. An interstellar consortium of concerned scientists, something like an outer-space cross between English Nature and the World Wildlife Fund, had taken it upon themselves to transplant those native species they could find safe homes for elsewhere, and to assist the other species to survive in their new environment.
Hence, flying manta rays (or Greater X'ylimryn). Ginormous flying manta rays who drifted as easily through the still-humid breezes of this place as they had its oceans, gliding gracefully past formations that looked as though they might've once been part of some vast underwater system of caves. Although they definitely weren't coral, never had been-she'd asked that first thing when they'd landed, with the way the shapes reminded her of the TARDIS' interior.
As to why they hadn't come here to see these rays when this was still a planet of great, wide, rolling blue oceans (thanks, Arthur Dent), he'd looked at her with a slight hint of awe. It was because they were beautiful even though they'd had to adapt to all-new surroundings, he'd said. They were, in fact, all the more beautiful for the changes they'd gone through, even if they didn't realise it themselves.
Besides, it would be a bit tough to have a picnic underwater.
And then he'd asked her, ever so casually, his face aglow, how long she was going to stay with him.
Forever, she'd said, without a moment's pause, and had beamed at him, trying not to show how exhausted she still was, though he wouldn't have minded.
He'd given her the smile of a man who was happy to have his greatest hopes confirmed to him, even though it seemed he had already known what her answer would be. They'd both turned back to quietly contemplate the Greater X'ylimryn for another few moments. Then he'd taken her by the hand, still smiling that same smile, and took her back into the TARDIS.
They had eventually gotten around to that picnic he'd promised. But not until he'd asked her that same question, again, and again, and again.
*********
That's what I thought. But then came the army of ghosts. Then came Torchwood and the war. And that's when it all ended.
This is the story of how I died.
*********
“I think we can stop it there, love,” Pete Tyler said warmly. “Most of the initial debriefs back in the day told us enough about all that.” He placed a hand on Rose's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“Yes, sir, for that period in time, most likely,” Alison offered, smiling sympathetically at Rose Tyler, who was seated in an incongrously comfortable chair in one of the basement laboratories at Torchwood. Poor girl wasn't much older than her son, although you'd never know it from the steely determination that was her singular expression on most days. Sharp and hard, like someone who had never quite forgiven the world for what it had taken from her. Except for days like these, the slow days when she could sit in a lab and tell people she hardly knew about the man she deeply loved.
Director Tyler's heir apparent was attached to various electrodes and sensors, all of which were connected to a deceptively small computer array. The entire setup had been cobbled together from a variety of sources, both scavenged from the old Torchwood's archives and willingly donated by recently-made friends. They'd received many gifts from the increasing numbers of alien refugees who had been coming from across what seemed like the whole universe, turning up on humanity's doorstep ever since the stars had started going out several months ago-at least from the Earth's point of view. For some of these species, their homes had been wiped out countless millennia ago.
“The more data from which we have to form our initial calibrations, of course, the better we'll be able to make sense of the timestream readings we've been getting. The Tharils have been most helpful in that regard, but they're time sensitive, not telepaths, and they don't usually require equipment for their travels.”
Alison watched her assistants as they gently removed the pads and pins from Rose's head, face, and hands. Rose flinched slightly as one of the pads on her temples was pulled away a bit too sharply. As the clumsy tech tried to brush Rose's hair back into place, she batted his hand away out of reflex. “Sorry about that, ma'am,” he murmured, backing away deferentially.
“'s alright, Ianto,” the young woman offered, with a smile that didn't quite reach authenticity. “And I've told you, enough with the ma'am.”
“Yes, ma-Rose,” he answered sheepishly.
“You can make it up to me with a cuppa, yeah?” she asked brightly, looking just a bit cross with herself for having swatted at the lad.
“Of course. What kind would you like?”
Finally freed from the array, Rose shook her hair and stood, stretching, and pulling down her ever-present blue leather jacket from the nearby coat rack.
“We'll go to the canteen, yeah? You're not the tea boy. Honestly. You two coming?”
“Sure thing, love, we'll be along in a minute,” Pete replied.
Alison called sharply into the adjoining room. “About time all of us had a break, then. Everyone, we'll let this latest batch process and meet back here in half an hour!”
As they headed for the door, and the various technicians bustled past, Pete caught and held her eye. After her team had exited, she took a deep breath. It seemed the Director wanted a word.
“Do you really think this'll work?” he asked her, in the matter-of-fact manner she'd found Peter Tyler reserved for the people he respected.
“Yes,” she answered flatly. “And she'll do what needs to be done. Anything to find her Doctor.”
At that, Pete chuckled. “Well, she'd do that anyway.” He paused at the secure door to the area, thoughtful. “Let's just hope it's enough.”
From everything she'd heard, and the look in Rose Tyler's eyes whenever she said that name, Alison Docherty was sure it would be.
--------------------
The End
Author: principia_coh
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler, and the guest characters from multiple episodes.
Spoilers: Through the end of AoG, with a hint towards Doomsday and events and people at the end of Series 3 and Series 4.
Rating: PG-13
Betas: The hypervigilant leighleighla!
Author’s Notes: My (largely) canon-compliant Army of Ghosts pinch-hit fic for the Time in Flux ficathon.
--------------------
Planet Earth. This is where I was born. And this is where I died.
For the first 19 years of my life, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not ever.
*********
Rose Tyler sighed heavily, placed another chip in her mouth, and chewed half-heartedly as she tried not to think about the job she'd just lost out on. She relaxed against the window, letting the cool glass support her head.
Shareen had been so positive that they'd been hiring around her way. Maybe they hadn't, or maybe they had taken one look at her, heard her speak, and decided they already employed enough chavs for what was supposed to be an establishment looking to upscale.
Here she was, 19 years old, dropped out of school with no A levels, still living with her mum, and unable to even get a position in the caff at Marks and Sparks. What the hell had she been thinking, dropping out of school for a toad like Jimmy Stone?
She hadn't been, obviously. Rose folded the top of her bundle of chips closed. Maybe I should try again at the job centre tomorrow. With another sigh, Rose drifted off into a light doze. Just a few minutes, she thought, Maybe it'll give me the energy to face Mum when I have to tell her I didn't get the job. Again.
A short while later, as the double-decker rounded a corner, the driver braked sharply, bringing the bus to a halt. Rose was jerked awake as her packet fell to the floor and she nearly collided with the seat in front of her. Her fellow passengers grumbled while the driver shouted hoarsely at whatever errant vehicle or person had just bloody near caused a crash. Rose's heart pounded as she watched the minicab that had cut in front of the bus dart away. That had taken care of her early-evening sluggishness. She sat bolt upright, her lost chips momentarily forgotten, and rubbed her eyes, looking out the window to see where they were. Oh, right, Henrik's.
Hang on, was that a 'Hiring Now' sign in the window?
*********
And then I met a man called the Doctor.
*********
This isn't funny, this isn't at all funny, not even close, why are they bothering with me here in the basement, they should've gone upstairs while we were open, this is stupid, why won't they say something, I'm gonna kill Derek, that wanker, if these idiots don't kill me first, they've got me stumbling over all this junk and now I'm standing right in front of the steam pipe. Oh my God, are they going to kill me? They can't possibly...
Rose was pinned against the wall as the nearest mannequin, person, whatever, raised his arm in a clear chopping motion. She couldn't bring herself to watch.
Suddenly, a cool, strong, person's hand gripped hers firmly. Rose looked up to see the owner of the hand in question. “Run,” he said, urgently, wrenching her away from whatever dismal fate had been in store, throwing the nearby doors open and pelting down the maintenance corridor at full tilt with her at his side, hand still tightly clenched in his.
Run. Who was she to argue?
*********
A man who could change his face. And he took me away from home in his magical machine.
*********
Rose leaned in the entryway to the console room, a serene smile on her face. Bleary-eyed, she tried to hold back a yawn as she watched the Doctor continuing to fiddle with some bit of wiring behind one of the roundels. It seemed like he'd been at this rather minute repair for hours, and it had been late enough when they'd got back to the TARDIS as it was, but he swore once it was fixed, off to any gig, any where, any when they could go, with pinpoint accuracy.
Suddenly, he leapt onto the central platform, eagerly twisting a dial here and flipping a switch there, playing his favourite instrument. He bounced around the TARDIS' console, his trimly tailored suit moving smoothly over the angles of his body.
And occasional curves, she noted, her smile widening as she drank in the fit form dancing in front of her, most especially his tight bum, which was was now directly in her view. He stopped and erupted with a joyous shout, throwing his hands up in triumph.
“Bravo!” Rose cheered, clapping loudly, lest the Doctor forget he had an audience.
He must have done, because Rose swore he jumped a good foot-and-a-half in the air. He then turned to her, panting with alarm... or was it excitement?
“Gave me the fright of my lives! Well, this life, anyway. I'd thought you'd packed it in and gone to bed ages ago, Rose Tyler,” he explained, sounding equally abashed and pleasantly surprised to find her still here.
“Can't miss the maestro at work,” Rose countered, grinning.
“Hmmm,” he hummed happily, as he sidled up to her. “Did I put on a good show for you?”
Eyes sparkling with mischief, he smiled at her sweetly, looked her directly in the eye, and broke out in a face-splitting yawn.
Rose found herself yawning back with equal fervour, and swatted at his arm. “Oi, that's not fair,” she chastised him around another yawn.
“I think someone is tired,” the Doctor chirped.
“Oh, come on, after all that?” Rose complained, blinking heavily. She rubbed her eyes in an effort to clear a bit of the sleep from them.
“I think you are too pooped to pop,” he continued.
“I'm never too tired for dancing,” she quipped. Rose blushed deeply, mortified, as soon as the words had left her mouth.
To her surprise, instead of retreating with embarrassed mumbles about needing to rotate something, or engaging in one of his other usual tactics for avoiding uncomfortable subjects, the Doctor slowly licked his lips, and let his gaze wander up and down her body. Rose swallowed hard, and straightened slightly, fidgeting under the unaccustomed scrutiny. She thought she'd caught him looking before once or twice, sure, but never like this.
“I think maybe you're right,” she muttered. “I am a bit knackered. We should probably go, you know, to bed. I mean I should, I know you don't sleep, not really.” Nice ramble, Tyler. God, you're as bad as him!
The Doctor looked at her appraisingly, and his expression shifted ever so slightly. “Here and there, now and then. Would you at least like me to tuck you in?”
Rose's pulse fluttered, and she found herself suddenly not very tired at all. “Yeah,” she replied breathily, “I think I'd like that a lot.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jackie Tyler was going to bloody kill her. Not a little dead. Not “you're grounded for the next fortnight and don't think you're going to that party at Keisha's, young missy.” Stone cold dead.
Rose Tyler looked at herself in the mirror, for what felt like the first time in ages. These days the Doctor's beaming smile of approval seemed to be all the reflection she needed.
Her hair... was not blonde. Nor was it shoulder-length. Or ever-so-slightly-past shoulder length. There were still some blonde bits at the end, the last several inches, to be sure, but otherwise, her hair was brown, for the first time in years. Its deep natural brunette had reappeared at the roots, and remained a darker brown past the end of her chin, then faded slowly into her old colour. And the Doctor had never said a word, just kept smiling that wonderful smile at her. He always admired her locks whether he was helping her put her hair into some ridiculous hairstyle for attending an important 'do on some faraway planet, or trying to scrub the mud, slime, and general ick out of her hair after one of their stickier getaways.
My God, how long had it been?
There was nothing for it. They were going to have to go back to Earth. Maybe London, or maybe not. Not if she wanted to be sure her mum wouldn't see her like this. New York, or Chicago, maybe? A haircut and a dye? Although she did love the way he played with her hair as she had it fanned out across a pillow, or draped over his shoulder.
Maybe just a fresh dye job, that should do it. Somewhere funky that would let her keep the roots in so it didn't look too posh-and where they couldn't get into too much trouble. If she put her hair up in a ponytail or braids, her mum would never have to know the difference, right?
###
In retrospect, Rose considered, as she sprinted hand-in-hand down the pavement with the Doctor, she really should've known better. There was always trouble. The Doctor seemed positively giddy at this turn of events, even as she glanced over her shoulder to see if they'd evaded their pursuers, and she couldn't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm.
The haircut would have to wait.
*********
He showed me the whole of time and space. I thought it would never end.
*********
Almost straight away after their close encounter with the black hole that was designed to imprison the Devil himself, and said prisoner, he'd taken her to 6-4!7 Grappa B.
This entire planet used to be underwater, he'd explained, a vast ocean planet up until fairly recently in geological terms. After its galaxy had had too close an encounter with a neighbouring one and gravitic havoc had been wreaked on the affected star systems, large portions of its crust had collapsed, taking not all but much of the water miles down into the planet's interior. An interstellar consortium of concerned scientists, something like an outer-space cross between English Nature and the World Wildlife Fund, had taken it upon themselves to transplant those native species they could find safe homes for elsewhere, and to assist the other species to survive in their new environment.
Hence, flying manta rays (or Greater X'ylimryn). Ginormous flying manta rays who drifted as easily through the still-humid breezes of this place as they had its oceans, gliding gracefully past formations that looked as though they might've once been part of some vast underwater system of caves. Although they definitely weren't coral, never had been-she'd asked that first thing when they'd landed, with the way the shapes reminded her of the TARDIS' interior.
As to why they hadn't come here to see these rays when this was still a planet of great, wide, rolling blue oceans (thanks, Arthur Dent), he'd looked at her with a slight hint of awe. It was because they were beautiful even though they'd had to adapt to all-new surroundings, he'd said. They were, in fact, all the more beautiful for the changes they'd gone through, even if they didn't realise it themselves.
Besides, it would be a bit tough to have a picnic underwater.
And then he'd asked her, ever so casually, his face aglow, how long she was going to stay with him.
Forever, she'd said, without a moment's pause, and had beamed at him, trying not to show how exhausted she still was, though he wouldn't have minded.
He'd given her the smile of a man who was happy to have his greatest hopes confirmed to him, even though it seemed he had already known what her answer would be. They'd both turned back to quietly contemplate the Greater X'ylimryn for another few moments. Then he'd taken her by the hand, still smiling that same smile, and took her back into the TARDIS.
They had eventually gotten around to that picnic he'd promised. But not until he'd asked her that same question, again, and again, and again.
*********
That's what I thought. But then came the army of ghosts. Then came Torchwood and the war. And that's when it all ended.
This is the story of how I died.
*********
“I think we can stop it there, love,” Pete Tyler said warmly. “Most of the initial debriefs back in the day told us enough about all that.” He placed a hand on Rose's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“Yes, sir, for that period in time, most likely,” Alison offered, smiling sympathetically at Rose Tyler, who was seated in an incongrously comfortable chair in one of the basement laboratories at Torchwood. Poor girl wasn't much older than her son, although you'd never know it from the steely determination that was her singular expression on most days. Sharp and hard, like someone who had never quite forgiven the world for what it had taken from her. Except for days like these, the slow days when she could sit in a lab and tell people she hardly knew about the man she deeply loved.
Director Tyler's heir apparent was attached to various electrodes and sensors, all of which were connected to a deceptively small computer array. The entire setup had been cobbled together from a variety of sources, both scavenged from the old Torchwood's archives and willingly donated by recently-made friends. They'd received many gifts from the increasing numbers of alien refugees who had been coming from across what seemed like the whole universe, turning up on humanity's doorstep ever since the stars had started going out several months ago-at least from the Earth's point of view. For some of these species, their homes had been wiped out countless millennia ago.
“The more data from which we have to form our initial calibrations, of course, the better we'll be able to make sense of the timestream readings we've been getting. The Tharils have been most helpful in that regard, but they're time sensitive, not telepaths, and they don't usually require equipment for their travels.”
Alison watched her assistants as they gently removed the pads and pins from Rose's head, face, and hands. Rose flinched slightly as one of the pads on her temples was pulled away a bit too sharply. As the clumsy tech tried to brush Rose's hair back into place, she batted his hand away out of reflex. “Sorry about that, ma'am,” he murmured, backing away deferentially.
“'s alright, Ianto,” the young woman offered, with a smile that didn't quite reach authenticity. “And I've told you, enough with the ma'am.”
“Yes, ma-Rose,” he answered sheepishly.
“You can make it up to me with a cuppa, yeah?” she asked brightly, looking just a bit cross with herself for having swatted at the lad.
“Of course. What kind would you like?”
Finally freed from the array, Rose shook her hair and stood, stretching, and pulling down her ever-present blue leather jacket from the nearby coat rack.
“We'll go to the canteen, yeah? You're not the tea boy. Honestly. You two coming?”
“Sure thing, love, we'll be along in a minute,” Pete replied.
Alison called sharply into the adjoining room. “About time all of us had a break, then. Everyone, we'll let this latest batch process and meet back here in half an hour!”
As they headed for the door, and the various technicians bustled past, Pete caught and held her eye. After her team had exited, she took a deep breath. It seemed the Director wanted a word.
“Do you really think this'll work?” he asked her, in the matter-of-fact manner she'd found Peter Tyler reserved for the people he respected.
“Yes,” she answered flatly. “And she'll do what needs to be done. Anything to find her Doctor.”
At that, Pete chuckled. “Well, she'd do that anyway.” He paused at the secure door to the area, thoughtful. “Let's just hope it's enough.”
From everything she'd heard, and the look in Rose Tyler's eyes whenever she said that name, Alison Docherty was sure it would be.
--------------------
The End